'We will fly west to one of the Somersetshire coal-mines, or to one of the Cornwall tin-mines, and we will barricade ourselves against the cloud, and provision ourselves for six months--for it is perfectly feasible, and we have plenty of time, and no crowds to break down our barricades--and there in the deep earth we will live sweetly together, till the danger is overpast.' And she smiled, and drew her hand across my face, and said: 'No, no: don't you tlust in my God? do you think He would leally let me die?' For she has appropriated the Almighty God to herself, naming Him '_my_ God'--the impudence: though she generally knows what she is saying, too. And she would not fly the cloud. And I am now writing three weeks later at a little place called Château-les-Roses, and no poison-cloud, and no sign of any poison-cloud, has come. And this I do not understand. It may be that she divined that I was about to destroy myself ... she may be quite capable.... But no, I do not understand, and shall never ask her. But _this_ I understand: that it is _the White_ who is Master here: that though he wins but by a hair, yet he wins, he wins: and since he wins, dance, dance, my heart. I look for a race that shall resemble its Mother: nimble-witted, light-minded, pious--like her; all-human, ambidextrous, ambicephalous, two-eyed--like her; and if, like her, they talk the English language with all the r's turned into l's, I shall not care. They will be vegetable-eaters, I suppose, when all the meat now extant is eaten up: but it is not certain that meat is good for men: and if it is really good, then they will _invent_ a meat: for they will be _her_ sons, and she, to the furthest cycle in which the female human mind is permitted to orbit, is, I swear, all-wise. There was a preaching man--a Scotchman he was, named Macintosh, or something like that--who said that the last end of Man shall be well, and very well: and she says the same: and the agreement of these two makes a Truth. And to that I now say: Amen, Amen. For I, Adam Jeffson, second Parent of the world, hereby lay down, ordain, and decree for all time, clearly perceiving it now: That the one Motto and Watch-word essentially proper to each human individual, and to the whole Race of Man, as distinct from other races in heaven or in earth, was always, and remains, even this: 'Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.' THE END.